A Father's Pride
by LAXgirl
Summary: Companion piece to "Fortune Favors Fools." If female infanticide is so common in Predacon society, why wasn't Dinobot discarded as a sparkling? ONE-SHOT


This story came to me completly out of the blue and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it.

_*Stahlhand - _German for "Steel Hand" (to be pronounced with harsh German consonant sounds and a guttural pause between the two syllables)

In the back of my mind I've always had the mental image of Predacons being very similar to Nazi-era Germans: strong, militaristic, deluded with megalomanic plans of world domination and ruthless to the core when it came to conquering neighboring countries. For that reason I wanted to give Dinobot's father a Germanic sounding name that wasn't too over the top, but still had a hint of old-world nobility to it.

That being said, enjoy!

**A Father's Pride**

The halls of the medical facility were loud and filled with throngs of injured bots despite the early hour of the morning. Many of those packing the waiting room were suffering the effects of large amounts of high-grade and injuries no doubt received in brawls started because of their drunkenness. The walls were dingy and smeared in places with streaks of dried mech-fluid and other unmentionable matter. Many of the marks were old but no one had made any obvious attempt to clean them.

Stahlhand, commander of the seventh infantry of the Predacon forces, shook his head in disgust. Was this what their society had become? A race of drunkards and mindless brawlers? No wonder the Maximals thought so little of them and treated them like gutter trash. If this was the best their culture had to offer then perhaps they really did deserve their place at the bottom of Cybertronian society.

The battle tank pushed such thoughts from his processor though. He had more important things to think about than the immediate future of their race. He'd only just been released from a secret, closed-door meeting with several of the other regional commanders. The meeting had lasted far longer than Stahlhand ever would have expected - stretching into the very late (or early) hours of the morning depending on how one looked at it. When he'd finally emerged his lieutenant had almost immediately ran up to tell him his pregnant sparkmate, Tripwire, had gone into labor sometime during his meeting and been rushed to the nearest medical facility. By Stahlhand's estimations Tripwire's delivery sequence had begun more than twelve hours ago - more than enough time for a birth to take place if it'd come on quickly.

Stahlhand's pace unconsciously quickened. Finally. After eight weeks of patient waiting he would finally have a son to call his own and carry on his genetic line. When Tripwire first told him of her conception, he'd been concerned. He was not a mech who considered creator-hood a noteworthy endeavor. But the more he'd thought about, the more he'd slowly begun to warm up to the idea. Since that day every credit that could possibly be spared had been stashed away in preparation for the coming sparkling. It had been rough. Money was tight enough as it was and the promise of another mouth to feed was not encouraging. If truth be told, Stahlhand and his sparkmate couldn't afford the addition of another bot to their familial unit's roster. With the recent rash of extra taxes and import fees being placed on energon shipments into Predacon districts, they could barely feed themselves half the time let alone a tiny infant that would only be a drain on their financial resources for at least the first decade of its function.

But the promise of a son had been too enticing to convince Stahlhand to order Tripwire to terminate her pregnancy. A son meant the guaranteed continuation of his genetic line, status in Predacon society and a future source of pride and bragging rights. Despite his low rank amongst the other officers, a son might just promise him an opportunity for advancement. Those who produced male offspring were seen as contributing to the Predacon war effort. It meant future troops for the ongoing fight against the Maximal overlords. Such contributions would surely be rewarded. Such an opportunity could not be passed up no matter how steep the immediate sacrifices were to him and his sparkmate.

A cluster of other bots was gathered around the reception window of the emergency area, many of them elbowing and shoving others in attempt to be the next one to reach the window. Shouting and unintelligible curses flew from every which direction. Lines or the idea of waiting in one were completely foreign concepts. Only Maximals followed such structured social conventions. Undaunted by the jostling crowd Stahlhand waded straight into the chaos. He stood more than a head taller than any other bot there. Using his larger size and strength, he easily pushed his way to the front of the crowd. Several turned to yell at him as they were shoved aside, but upon seeing the battle tank's intimidating size and the military insignias blazed across his superstructure like war paint, they all quieted and turned their attention back to fighting the bot immediately beside them for position. The howitzer cannon mounted on his right shoulder had probably helped too.

Breaking free of the press of bodies, Stahlhand stepped up to the counter and the harried looking med-tech on the other side of the dingy, scuff-marked security glass.

"My sparkmate came in here several hours ago," he shouted into the window's comm-unit over the disgruntled murmur of voices behind him. "Designation: Tripwire. Activation code: HR-38695 A3."

The med-tech punched the information into a computer terminal with clinical detachment and scanned down the resulting list of data. "Patient Tripwire arrived a little after nineteen-hundred hours yesterday. Condition: full term labor. Delivered at half past zero-hundred hours this morning. Is currently residing in patient room 3507."

"And my son?" Stahlhand demanded, struggling to keep the eagerness out of his voice. "What about him?"

The med-tech scanned the screen again. "No son. The sparkling your sparkmate delivered was female. She's currently being held in Natal Unit 3 for inspection and culling." Leaning back in his chair the med-tech glanced at Stahlhand, his expression bored and indifferent to what he said next. "As sire your decision is needed before she is given activation codes or disposed of. Proceed to level five. Natal Unit 3 is to the right at the end of the hall. After making your inspection you can then proceed to your sparkmate's room which is on the sixth floor. Next!"

Despite the push of bodies trying to fight for their turn at the window, Stahlhand felt riveted to the floor. He let himself be roughly shoved to the side as a mech with a deep knife wound in his side pushed himself to the reception window next. Several drops of mech-fluid splashed across the top of Stahlhand's left pede, but he didn't even notice. As if in a daze, he stood there unable to move or think.

No son. The med-tech had said he had no son. Tripwire had given birth to a femme. A daughter. What was he to do now? A daughter was next to worthless. What use did he have for a femme-child?

Crushed by disappointment, the Predacon commander silently turned and headed for lifts. He would go to level five, give his inspection then go be with his sparkmate where they could together try to forget about their failed attempt at creator-hood.

Perhaps this was for the best, Stahlhand tried to reason as he squeezed himself into the narrow lift and punched the button for level five. He and Tripwire had no financial assets to spare, especially not enough to raise a sparkling comfortably. If they'd had a son he could have justified such future sacrifices, but for a femme? It wasn't possible. The future return for raising a femm-spark was not high enough to justify such an expenditure. Only those with money could afford daughters, and he did not have that level of affluence.

If only they'd been able to afford the test that could have determined the sex of their sparkling before it came online, they could have saved themselves from waiting this long to learn of their disappointment. But only well funded hospitals had the equipment necessary to run such a test, and all those hospitals were Maximal-controlled. Just to be seen by a medic in one of those facilities would have cost them almost a fifth of Stahlhand's yearly stipend. They just couldn't afford it, so they'd decided to leave it up to chance. After all, the odds had been in their favor for having a mech. The ratio of mech-to-femme births was almost 4:1. Many argued the birth rates were so skewed because of the wide-spread practice of pre-natal termination of femm-sparks, especially amongst Predacons, but Stahlhand had hoped nonetheless.

But now he had nothing. All his hoping had amounted to nothing but a newsparked femme he had no hope of keeping. Stahlhand was a battle-toughed warrior, used to hardships and defeat, but somehow this - this sinking sense of disappointment in his spark - was almost too much for him to bear. It was times like these he wondered if Primus really had forsaken his people to give them so few choices or opportunities that they had to pin so much hope on the production of only male heirs.

The lift shuddered to a stop. The door rattled open. Stahlhand stepped out of it and glanced around. The hallway was dark. Most of the lights running the length of the corridor were out. Stahlhand didn't know if was because someone had turned them off to save energy, or if it was because the light fixtures were broken and the medical facility couldn't afford to fix them. For some reason, the Predacon commander had a feeling it was the latter of the two reasons.

Turning to the right, he began his trek down the hall. At the end of the corridor was a door flanked on one sign by a sign that said "Natal Unit 3." Stahlhand took a deep intake and schooled his facial plates into an expression of stern detachment. Pushing open the door, he strode inside.

The room beyond was dark. On the far side of the room, a set of dingy windows let a murky cast of light filter inside from the ambient glow of the city beyond, giving Stahlhand just enough light to be able to make things out in the darkness. To his right, two light fixtures dangled from the ceiling, creating twin pools of iodized yellow in the otherwise murky gloom. A clear plastic tray with high sides sat on a small table beneath each fixture.

Stahlhand slowly made his way over to the tables and glanced inside. A tiny sparkling lay recharging at the bottom of each, both of them femmes. Stahlhand didn't need to look at the identification card hanging from the end of either tray to know which one of them was his. The femme on the right was a silvery white color reminiscent of polished chrome, while the one on the left had the same arctic-blue coloring as his sparkmate, Tripwire.

The Predacon commander carefully leaned down over the side of the tray to get a closer look at the strange creature laying there so helpless and exposed in the harsh glare of the heat lamps, her tiny body still curled tight in memory of her place beneath her carrier's sparkchamber. While the sparkling had inherited his sparkmate's coloring, it had obviously taken after him in model. Although small and underdeveloped, Stahlhand recognized the slightly broader width of his sparkling's shoulders compared to those of the sparkling beside her and the stockier build of her back and legs. She was an infantry model, exactly like himself.

Stahlhand was startled by the rush of agony that coursed through his spark at the realization. Without being fully aware of what he was doing the Predacon commander carefully reached down into the tray to pick up the blue femme. The sudden need to touch and actually feel his progeny's weight in his hands was overwhelming.

The sparkling squirmed and let out a sleepy warble as he lifted her into his hands but almost immediately quieted again. He was startled by just how small she really was. If he'd so wanted he could have easily cradled her in the palm of one hand. She weighed almost nothing. Drawing her closer, Stahlhand stared at his daughter, enthralled and just a little bit afraid to be holding such a delicate creature. He worried if he jostled her too much he might somehow accidentally break her.

"Beautiful…" he murmured to himself. Her protoform was the same color as the ice caps of the planet Alterra - a startling blue that seemed to defy all known color gradients native to Cybertron.

As he stared in silent wonder the sparkling gave an electronic mewl. Tiny optics flickered online as if for the very first time and groggily stared up at him. _Red_, Stahlhand thought with a thrill of awe. Her optics were the same shade of red as his own.

"So beautiful," he whispered. She was so tiny. So perfect. It was almost inconceivable that she'd been sparked from his genetic code. If only he could keep her...

The Predacon commander shifted his daughter in his arms so that she lay lengthwise across him, cradled in one bulky arm against the curved armor plating of his chest. Her cranial unit fit perfectly into the crux of his elbow. It was disconcerting how small she was. Just his forearm dwarfed her tiny frame. With gentleness that was almost inconceivable as coming from such a large and fearsome warrior, Stahlhand reached down with his free hand and traced the curvature of his daughter's cheek with the tip of one finger. He wanted to remember her. He wanted to physically commit to his memory banks the dimensions of his daughter's facial plates before he was forced to give her up.

The femme gave a warbled chirp and squirmed. One miniature leg flailed and butted him in the chest as though she were trying to kick him. His armor vibrated with a dull _clang_.

Stahlhand couldn't restrain the amused smirk that spread across his face at the infant's feistiness. "You are very strong for a newspark," he grinned, still stroking her face. "You have better aim than half of those low-RAMed idiots they send me as recruits. If only you had come online as a mech we might have been able to actually keep you..."

As though calmed by the rumble of her father's voice, the sparkling fell quiet and relaxed into the crook of his arm, but not before reaching out and wrapping her hand around the powerful finger petting her.

Stahlhand froze and stared at the tiny fingers suddenly grasping him. They were so delicate. So small. They were no bigger than standard sized relay cables, yet he could feel the strength in them as they blindly held onto him as though begging him to hold off pronouncing judgment on her just yet.

An overwhelming wave of despair crashed over Stahlhand. Oh, how he wished he could keep this tiny femme. He'd never possessed anything so delicate, beautiful or unsullied by the festering darkness and filth of their world. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly it physically hurt. She was like a miniature treasure - the spoils of war from a distant planet rich in ice-blue minerals, crystals and gems. Oh, what he wouldn't give to be able to keep her. He no longer cared if she was mech or femme. All he knew was that she was his progeny and possessed a strength he was sure could grow into something more if it was just given the chance. She was his. _His!_ And he wanted her more fiercely than any promotion, honor or wealth he could ever receive.

But reality could not be ignored no matter how he much he longed to possess her. How could he physically afford to keep a female child? No matter how badly he wanted her he couldn't see how he could do it. He and Tripwire already lived hand-to-mouth and many times went for days without being properly refueled due to lack of credits. How could he justify torturing a little fem-spark with such a fate? She would most likely starve before she ever even saw her first stellar-cycle.

Stahlhand was startled out his thoughts, however, by the sound of the door to the room opening. A young med-tech entered.

"Oh," the medic said, startled to find another mech already in the room. Especially such a tall, imposing battlefield model like Stahlhand. "Are you one of the femmes' sire, sir?"

"Yes. This one's." He motioned with his chin towards the curled blue figure in his arms.

"Ah," the medic said, striding farther into the room. "Then perhaps I came at just the right time. This unit's sire has revoked his approval of it." Without a pause, he reached into the other tray and hoisted the second femme from inside. The sparkling released a flurry of frightened chirps. Ignoring the sparkling's agitated cries, the med-tech tucked her under one arm like she was nothing more than a package. The femme's limbs weakly flailed in the air, her frightened chirps plaintive and spark-wrenching. But the medic seemed deaf to them.

"Have you made your decision yet about that one, sir?" he asked, glancing at the curled protoform in Stahlhand's arms. "It would save me a second trip downstairs if you don't want to keep her."

The Predacon warrior hesitated. He didn't want to give his daughter to this mech. Every circuit in his body screamed against it. Not after the way he'd seen him handle the other doomed sparkling. His daughter deserved better than that. "My daughter was making noises before when I first picked her up," he said, trying to stall. "Why was she doing that?"

"She's probably hungry," the medic replied. He shifted the femme he held to his other side. Her plaintive chirps grew shrill. "Female newsparks aren't given any energon after they come online until their sires inspect them and give their approval."

"But she came online more than six mega-cycles ago."

"Well, no use in wasting energon on a femme that's only going to end up in the incinerator, right?" the medic shrugged indifferently. "So what's the verdict? You want me to take that one down to dispose of too?"

Stahlhand unconsciously gripped his progeny closer. There was no way he was giving his daughter to this mech. He knew with sudden unquestionable certainty he couldn't give her up. He didn't care what the consequences were, he wasn't going to let this sparkless mech treat his daughter like she was some worthless piece of trash.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I'm keeping her."

The younger mech seemed surprised by his decision. "Are you sure, sir? Once activation codes are issued, it's very difficult to dispose of unwanted fem-sparks later on."

"I'm not going to dispose of her," Stahlhand growled, as if challenging the medic to question him further. "She's _mine_."

The med-tech instinctively cowered back. "Yes, of course, sir. I only wanted to make sure you were aware of the situation."

"I'm aware of it now, and my decision still stands," Stahlhand rumbled, rising himself to his full height. He literally towered over the smaller Predacon.

The medic nodded and began to hurriedly back away towards the door. The silver femm-child under his arm continued to cry piteously for mercy that Stahlhand knew she would never receive. His arms unconsciously tightened around his own daughter. They would have to send an entire army to make him give her over to such a fate.

"I'll start the paperwork immediately," the med-tech said, fumbling for the door.

"You do that," Stahlhand nodded.

"Um," the medic paused on the threshold and hesitantly glanced back inside the room. "What do you want me to put as the femme's designation?"

Stahlhand glanced at his daughter and stared for a thoughtful moment of silence. Her hand still gripped his finger in a surprisingly strong hold. He could feel the pressure of each and every one of her fingers around his own. "Dynamite," he finally announced. He wasn't able to keep the pride completely out of his voice as he tested the syllables on his glossa for the first time. It was perfect. No other name would do for the daughter his bond with Tripwire had sparked. It sounded strong, self-assured and feisty - exactly like the little creature in his arms had already proved herself to be.

The med-tech nodded and once more turned towards the door, eager to escape before the larger mech suffered any more offense on his progeny's behalf.

"Also bring a cube of energon to my sparkmate's room," Stahlhand called after the medic as he slipped out of the door. "My daughter is hungry."

He heard a murmur of affirmation from somewhere halfway down the hall. The muffled cries of the doomed femme gradually faded away into the distance.

Left behind in the silence of the room, Stahlhand glanced at his sparkling who at some point during the exchange drifted into restless recharge. No doubt from exhaustion and lack of energy. Stahlhand reigned back a surge of indignant anger. The indecency. The barbarism. To not give a newsparked femme even a sip of energon until her sire inspected her was a cruelty the warrior did not think possible even from his own people. He held no illusions as to what kind of culture his daughter had been born into, but the blatant show of disregard for female life he'd seen since arriving here was almost too much for him to comprehend. It was appalling. And to think he'd almost let himself become a part of it. Looking back on it, it sickened him to his very core. No femme deserved such ill-treatment. No wonder the Maximals looked down on them so much if this was how they treated their own offspring.

Cradling his daughter close, the Predacon commander stalked towards the door. He no longer cared what anyone else said or thought about him. No daughter of his was going to suffer a fate like the one that awaited the silver femme the medic just took. Even if he had to sully his own personal code of honor to do it, he'd lie, cheat and steal to give his progeny a fighting chance in this cruel world of theirs. She was _his!_ And the Pit take him now if he allowed anyone to take her from him or show her any kind of disrespect in his presence.

Stahlhand encountered no one in the hallway or on the lift as he made his way to the sixth floor. Dynamite was limp in his arms. Her hold on him had long since fallen away, but Stahlhand imagined he could still feel her tiny digits wrapped around his finger. She didn't even stir as he stepped off the lift and turned left.

_That no good med-tech better bring that cube of energon I told him to, or so help me Primus I'll hunt him down and send him flying through the nearest wall, _he thought as he scanned either side of the dirty hallway for room 3507. Within minutes he spotted the room he sought just ahead on the left.

Taking care not to jostle the sleeping sparkling, the battle tank eased the door open. The room, like most of the rest of the hospital, was dark. _Does this place have so little funding that it cannot even afford to keep it properly lit?_ he wondered with a disgusted frown.

Two berths filled the room, one of them empty. A figure lay stretched out on the one farthest away from the door. Her back was turned towards the door. The glow of streetlights through the window on the far side of the room dimly illuminated the figure's outline. Despite the gloom, Stahlhand was still able to make out the muted blue tones of his sparkmate's superstructure. Almost all of Tripwire's armor was gone. The medics most likely had removed it to help ease the stress of labor, but the overall effect gave the female espionage expert an alarmingly vulnerable appearance. Even laying down Stahlhand could see the sullen aura of her body language. Never had he seen his sparkmate look so withdrawn or defeated before.

"Tripwire?" he called in a low voice. The figure on the berth stirred but did not turn around to face him.

"Forgive me," an empty voice murmured. Tripwire seemed to curl in on herself where she lay as though too ashamed to turn and face her sparkmate. "I failed you. I wasn't able to give you a son. I promise I will do better next time." Stahlhand could feel faint traces of his sparkmate's internalized agony through their bond as if it were emanating from his very own spark.

The Predacon commander's spark clenched. Despite all public appearances of indifference, he knew Tripwire had not been opposed to the idea of becoming a maternal unit. It had been her that originally championed the advantages of them having a progeny and convinced him to let her continue the pregnancy. He could only imagine the pain she was truly experiencing if the whispered hints of restrained emotions he could feel through their bond were any indication.

"Tripwire-" Stahlhand said, stepping closer.

"They wouldn't even let me see her," the femme spat with sudden anger. Her one hand clenched into a shaking fist against the thin padding of the berth. "I spent hours pushing that sparkling from my body and they wouldn't even let me look at her when it was finally over. All they did was say it was a femme, then took her from the room before I could even see what she looked like." The disgust, shame and helpless anger in her voice would have softened the spark of even the cruelest bot.

Tripwire's voice must have carried louder through the room than Stahlhand thought because the sparkling stirred. Squirming in her father's hold, the infant gave a low electronic warble.

Tripwire stiffened on the berth. Pushing herself onto her elbows, she spun around and stared incredulously at her sparkmate and the tiny blue figure in his arms. Her optics were two perfect circles of startled red. For a moment she seemed unable to speak.

"You kept her?" she demanded as though afraid to actually believe what she saw.

Stahlhand nodded and stepped closer to the berth. Tripwire thrust her arms out, silently demanding his precious burden. The warrior willingly acquiesced and transferred the smaller femme into her carrier's outstretched arms. Tripwire drew the sparkling close, tightly clutching her to her breastplate as though afraid someone might try to take her away again. Stahlhand sat on the edge of the berth and watched his sparkmate hold their daughter.

"But… she's a femme," Tripwire whispered as though still trying to comprehend what had happened. "How can we afford a daughter?"

"I'll think of something," Stahlhand said. "We'll make it work. I'm not going to let anyone convince me I should give her up just because she's female. She's my progeny and nothing's going to make me change my mind about keeping her."

Tripwire sat for a moment of silence staring at the newspark she'd been so sure she'd lost. "She's so small," she murmured as though still trying to make herself believe she actually held her daughter in her arms.

"She'll grow," Stahlhand said.

"Have you given her a designation yet?" Tripwire asked.

Stahlhand nodded. "I named her Dynamite. Is that acceptable?"

"It is," Tripwire affirmed. With exaggerated care she reached down and possessively ran the side of one sharpened finger down the side of the infant's cheek. With an annoyed huff, the sparkling onlined her optics and stared at her mother with all the groggy irritation a newly sparked Cybertronian was capable of. Tripwire smirked. "Oh, yes," she said with approval. "I think Dynamite is more than an appropriate enough name for her."

Stahlhand crossed his arms across his massive chest and grinned proudly. "From what I can tell thus far, she seems to take after you in regards to her attitude."

Just as Stahlhand expected from his sparkmate, Tripwire sent him a withering glare. The glare however held no real ire and instead could have almost been considered playful by Predacon standards.

Leaning back against the dirty headboard of the berth, Tripwire settled the sparkling against her. "This will not be easy," she said with a meaningful glance at Stahlhand. "Raising a fem-spark when no other male progeny exist in the familial unit is not a common practice." Despite his sparkmate's misgivings, Stahlhand did not miss the way her arms possessively tightened around their daughter.

"If things gets bad enough we can always sell her," Stahlhand said. Deep down though the Predacon commander already knew he would never do such a thing, no matter how bad the situation got. He'd rather pawn his weapons or sell himself to the underground gladiator rings than lose this helpless sparkling he'd wrenched back from the brink of destruction.

Tripwire quietly nodded as though reading his thoughts.

A knock at the door made both Predacons look up. The medic from the natal unit stood in the doorway, a cube of glowing purple liquid in his hand.

"I brought the energon you asked for, sir," he said and timidly held the cube out to Stahlhand. "Will you be needing anything else?" He nervously shifted his weight from pede to pede as the battle tank rose from the berth and took the proffered cube of energon from him.

"Did you start processing my daughter's activation codes yet?" he demanded. His optics narrowed as though he doubted the medic trustworthiness - which he did.

"Yes, sir," the medic sputtered. "It's being run now. She should be able to be released within the next few hours."

"Very good. That will be all then. You're dismissed."

The trembling med-tech didn't need to be told twice and hurriedly scrambled out the door. Tripwire said nothing about the exchange as she took the energon cube from Stahlhand and cut a small slit in one corner of it with her claw. Tipping it against her daughter's lips she let a thin stream of purple liquid trickle into her mouth. The sparkling immediately took to the cube, her tiny arms reaching up to grasp either side of it herself. She drank with starved desperation as though afraid the nourishing liquid might be taken away from her at any moment. Neither Stahlhand nor Tripwire could deny the pang of distress that constricted their sparks at the sight of their daughter's hunger.

After several minutes, the sparkling gradually began to slow her sucking. Her arms fell limp to her chest and her curled body sagged into the crook of her mother's arm, sated and full. Tripwire removed the cube from her daughter's lips. More than three-quarters of the cube still remained. The tiny femme's optics flickered once, twice, then faded slowly offline as she slipped into recharge. When it became apparent the sparkling wasn't going to wake up again anytime soon, Tripwire drank down the rest of the energon herself in several deep gulps. Stahlhand wondered if his sparkmate had been given any fuel herself since delivering so many hours ago. Her optics almost instantly grew fuzzy with exhaustion as she set the empty cube aside on the floor.

"Here, take her," she said, holding the sleeping infant out to Stahlhand. "I've gotten almost no recharge since delivering. I feel like I'm about to slip into stasis."

Stahlhand was willing to guess why. No doubt his proud sparkmate had spent all those long hours waiting for him consumed with shame over her failed attempt to produce a male heir and grief for her fem-spark's assured termination. No sane bot - Predacon or Maximal - would have been able to get any amount of peaceful rest with thoughts like those haunting their processor. But now with her daughter's safety assured and her sparkmate's approval obtained, there was no reason for her to resist the siren call to sleep any longer.

Stahlhand eagerly took his daughter back into his arms. Her tiny body instinctively curled against the warmth of his chest. Tripwire, meanwhile, settled back down against the berth on her side, exhaustion and a replenished fuel tank steadily dragging her closer and closer to the edge of recharge.

"Sleep," Stahlhand ordered as he eased himself down to sit on the side of the berth beside her. The berth dipped under his weight. "We'll leave once you're rested and Dynamite has her activation codes."

"Don't you have another meeting later today with the other commanders?" Tripwire asked, her voice already distant and tinged with sleep. "Do you have enough time before then?"

"I do have another meeting, but it can wait," Stahlhand said with a dismissive snort. "For now I want to remain here. I doubt any of those military bureaucrats will notice my absence."

His answer seemed to satisfy Tripwire, for with no more delay she allowed herself to finally power down and drift offline. Stahlhand watched as her systems cycled further and further down until his sparkmate was as good as dead to the world around her. Reaching out, he ran his hand down the length of her unarmored body in a gesture that was both protective and possessive at the same time.

_Mine,_ the Predacon warrior thought with a flash of pride. Glancing down at the tiny figure in his arms his possessiveness swelled to even greater heights. _Mine._

Dynamite was his. No one else's. This miniature femme was arguably the most precious thing he had ever or would ever possess. Like he'd thought when he'd still been torn with indecision about her fate, she was a priceless treasure. And no one - _no one_ - was ever going to take her from him. _Ever._

In his arms, Dynamite twitched in her sleep as though caught in some vivid dream. One legs jerked out and gently butted Stahlhand in the chest. His armor vibrated from the force before almost instantly fading away. With a murmured warble the sparkling huddled closer to the radiating warmth of her sire's core. Her tiny fingers curled into two miniature fists underneath her chin.

Alone, veiled from any prying eyes by inky shrouds of pre-dawn shadows, the battle tank let a thin, bittersweet smile twist his facial plates.

Not even half a solar-cycle old and his daughter had already shown an inner strength Stahlhand had never thought possible from a femm-child before this day. It was just a shame that that strength would never have the opportunity to blossom to its full potential. At least not now within their current social structure. No matter how hard he might strive to give this femme the same opportunities and rights he would any male offspring Stahlhand knew it would never be enough to assure his daughter equality amongst the rest of their people. No matter how strongly he felt otherwise, he knew others would never see the same potential and strength in his daughter as he did. She would always be looked down upon, pushed to the lowest rungs of society, dismissed as useless or seen as nothing more than some kind of glorified object to be fought over and won as a prize. She would never be treated with the respect and dignity she deserved.

For a split nano-second Stahlhand regretted his decision to keep her. It was almost cruel to sentence an innocent sparkling to such a life of hardship and pain. But he'd wanted her so badly that even now just the thought of someone taking her from him made Stahlhand clutch his daughter closer. He couldn't do it. Not now. What was done was done. There was no way he could go back and change his decision now. For good or bad Dynamite was his forevermore unto eternity.

_I swear to you on our family's honor that I will do what I can for you, _he silently promised the sleeping femme. _It will be difficult and you might suffer at times because of my moment of selfish weakness, but I will always take pride in you no matter what. You are mine. My little warrioress…_

Although the future did not seem to hold much promise for the slumbering femme, Stahlhand felt buoyed by a tiny seed of hope that somehow, in some unforeseen way his daughter might someday be able to rise to her full potential and prove herself worthy of the respect and dignity she deserved.

Meanwhile, outside beyond the dingy pollution-smeared window, the first of Cybertron's two suns began to warm the distant horizon, bringing with it the promise of a new day.

_The End_

So, good? Bad? Somewhere in between?

Some of the things in this story tie directly into a dialogue I have planned for either chapter 14 or 15 of "Fortune Favors Fools," although this story can easily stand alone as it is. This was my first attempt at developing several original fan-characters, so I'd love to hear what your thoughts and feelings on them were.

Signing out,

-LAXgirl


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